“And he did not try to stop the villagers last night?”
“No. Maybe he didn’t know. But he was with the elders here, though he didn’t speak.” Her throat worked against the emotion lodged there, her betrayal evident, and Kjell guessed the “well-respected” Byron was the elder with the trembling hands and drooping skin.
“I don’t see everything. I don’t see most things. And I rarely see good things. I see pain. Fear. Death. Anger. Maybe because love isn’t as . . . dark, it’s harder to see. The terrible things put off a scent. A signal. Or maybe they send ripples through time.”
“Ripples?”
“Like ripples in a pond. You throw a stone into the water, and the impact sends waves outward in every direction. It is like I am on the shore, yet the ripples still find me, far as I might be from where—or when—it all occurs. I cannot control it. Most of the time, I can’t change it. I can only see it and do my best to warn of its arrival. Some ripples are just that . . . ripples, but some are huge waves. Sometimes we can catch the wave and ride the current. Sometimes we can dive beneath the churning, but we cannot keep the wave from coming. Sometimes it only brushes my feet, and sometimes I only observe, but the wave still comes.”
“And you saw me?”
“Yes. Many times. More times than I can count. I saw you, and I saw death.”
“Your own?” he asked. She saw him, and she saw death, yet she wasn’t afraid of him.
“Yes. And no. I saw the moments that came before. I felt the anger of the villagers. I saw my fear . . . and falling. I knew I would fall.”
“And you want me to help these people?”
“Some of them,” she whispered, and she tried to smile. “Maybe not all.”
“They will still hate you,” he replied grimly.
“Some of them. Maybe not all,” she repeated, nodding. “But not asking you to help them . . . when I know you can, would be like knowing the water is bad and not telling anyone. It isn’t about me. It’s about responsibility. The Gifts we are given are not given for our benefit but for the benefit of mankind.”
Kjell groaned inwardly, his dread growing by the second. This slave woman, this red-haired paragon of virtue and long-suffering, would be his undoing, and it would not be a sweet unraveling.
***
She followed him, her gait brisk, keeping pace with the guard as they entered Solemn on horseback. The village was an assortment of clay and stone structures, one blending into the next, rising out of the dust and butting against the cliff walls. Quondoon was a desert bedecked with the occasional rich oasis, and Solemn, sitting at an elevation that grew rocks and little else, was not one of them.
Kjell slowed and demanded that his men circle their horses around Sasha, shielding her from the eyes of those who might wish her harm. She was the reason he was here. He didn’t want her dragged off.
As they made their way along the main thoroughfare—the only street bigger than a mountain path—the villagers watched from their doorways and the sides of the street, their animus obvious, their eyes watchful and wary. Some of them even fell in behind the soldiers, their fear not as great as their curiosity, and by the time they reached their destination, a small parade had assembled behind them.
Jerick and the first group of soldiers, as well as the elders of Solemn, were gathered in front of an establishment hung with a sign that declared it an inn. Kjell didn’t suppose there were many travelers on the road to Solemn, but apparently there were a few. The building boasted three stories, forming a rectangular edifice complete with rows of perfectly square windows and topped with a flat roof. Some sort of garden was built on the roof, the trees and plants giving the establishment the appearance of hair. On both sides of the street, similarly styled clay structures stood in solidarity—a forge, a church, a stable, a tavern, and an apothecary. The apothecary was the largest building, and Kjell wondered if the owner had grown rich selling herbs and tonics to the sick people of Solemn.
“We have begun preparing a feast,” Syed said, raising his voice to be heard. The people grew quiet, their resentment palpable. “You can take your horses to the stable.” He indicated the structure and the enclosure across the way. “You are our guests. We will have our women prepare baths for your men, though it will take us some time to arrange quarters for so many.”
“I’ve decided we will not need baths or food. We are told the water is unclean,” Kjell said, projecting so his words reached the edges of the crowd. A murmur rose through the assembly.
“It’s making your people sick,” Kjell insisted.
“You may be the King’s Guard, but you know nothing of Solemn,” Syed protested.
Kjell shrugged. “It matters not to me whether you believe me. We will not be staying in Solemn. And we will not be drinking the water.” They would not even be dismounting from their horses if he had his way.
“The woman lies,” an elder hissed, pointing toward Sasha, laying the blame, and Kjell shrugged once more, though his ambivalence was feigned.
“Why would she do that?” Kjell demanded.
“To frighten the people,” Syed warned.
“To frighten them so much they would kill her?” Kjell scoffed. A guilty muttering rose again.
“She is clearly unharmed,” another elder said. “She lies to you too. It is she who makes the people sick.”
The villagers pressed and surged, closing around Kjell’s men, emboldened or simply curious, he couldn’t tell, and the horses shimmied and stomped, feeling the energy and the emotion gathering. They were armed soldiers on horseback, protected by their prowess and recognized as emissaries of the king. He was the king’s own brother, yet he knew that if the elders of Solemn could incite the crowd, the sheer numbers would overwhelm them.
Someone threw a stone, and then another. Rocks began to rain, striking the horses and the occasional guard, but they were aimed at the woman who had been accused of causing all the suffering. Sasha cried out in pain, and Kjell drew his sword. His men, following his lead, immediately unsheathed their own.
“By order of the crown, there will be no harming or casting out of the Gifted. They are bound by the same protections and laws every citizen of Jeru enjoys. If you stone, you will be stoned. If you harm, you will be harmed. If you cast someone out without cause, you will share the same fate.”
The people began to step back, and his men moved their horses forward, their swords extended, their intentions clear. Some of the villagers began to run, some covered their heads, and the elders threatened wildly, demanding the soldiers leave the village at once.
He felt a hand on his leg, tugging at him, demanding his attention, and he looked down into Sasha’s frightened face. Her veil had fallen and her hair was in tumbled disarray.
“They are suffering. Will you help them?”
“There has to be some justice,” he argued incredulously, staring down into her bottomless eyes.
“There was justice. You are my justice. You saved me. Now you will redeem them,” she implored.
“I will not!”
“You are a Healer, not an executioner.”
“I am both!” he roared, his indignation toward her almost as great as his outrage over what had been done to her.
“You can’t be both,” she rebuked gently. A knot was already forming on her cheek, and a thin line of blood welled up in the abrasion. His anger swelled again, so great it enlarged his chest and pounded in his temples. He pressed his fingertips to the wound and wiped the blood away, leaving flat, unbroken skin in its wake.